


Stanley Uris takes a flight

by SpicyWolfsbane



Series: airplanes & ships [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: I don't give a fuck about the canon outcomes of Eddie and Stan, It 2 spoilers, M/M, So is Eddie, Stanley IS ALIVE BITCHES, Stozier, and indulging ourselves with his return, fix-it fanfic, this is because I found a sexy picture of Andy Bean with tattoos, this serves much more to the purpose of exploring stan as a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyWolfsbane/pseuds/SpicyWolfsbane
Summary: “Stanley... Uris... Urine...”, a third voice reached his ears “Stanley Urine. No, he won’t show up. The guy is a pussy”.Gulping and embarrassed with the looks the woman was giving him, he forced himself a few steps, standing in front of a table with nearly empty bowls of food and beer bottles. Six pair of eyes on him. And as much as time had passed, he could tell who they were.Mike Hanlon smiled so wide and bright that Stanley felt the calmness pumping through his veins. He eyed every single one of them and fought with the tears that would came once again.Landing his eyes on a bespectacled man with a hideous shirt, he bit the inside of his cheek, finally finding the voice he lost the day before after Mike’s call.“Beep beep, Richie”.





	1. Stanley Uris arrives at Jade of the Orient

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had in mind that I would not do a fix-It story. There are lots of things in the movie that triggered my brains to write, but I promised I wouldn't do it, as I have to focus on writing another Stozier. But considering 1) the lack of Stozier content and 2) a GORGEOUS picture of Andy Bean all muscled up and FULL of tattoos, I had this silly idea and I had to write. Also, because I fucking miss Stanley Uris and I can't help myself but to imagine what would've happened if he had come back to Derry. This story will have three chapters covering up three scenes of the movie. And that's it.
> 
> Warning: my first language isn't english and I was too anxious to publish this story, so it wasn't proofreaded. If you see any mistakes, tell me.
> 
> Update September 19th: my dearest angsty belgian waffle a.k.a. marie (tumblr: sparklingspice | ao3: Evanaissante) proofreaded this story to me, so this chapter was updated with her corrections. All remaining mistakes can be attributed to my dummy ass.

As the smell of fried food hit his nostrils, Stanley squeezed the hem of his cardigan. The lighting made everything look a sick tone of red and yellow and the scent of seasoning was so strong he felt his stomach lurching. He was hyper-aware of the weight of his cellphone on his back pocket, with at least five unread messages from Patricia, probably asking him if the flight had gone well or if he had already met with his friends.

He had left Atlanta in such a hurry that he had vomited all his lunch inside one of the toilet stalls of the airport. His eyelids were now heavy and his eyes were burning, the lack of sleep leaving him slow and confused.

After Mike’s call, Stanley had kept looking at his unfinished puzzle for so long that when Patrica had crouched beside him, gently touching his shoulder, mumbling something about the soup she was making for dinner, Stanley had yelled. It was so loud and so sudden that his wife had lost balance on her heels and tumbled beside him, an equal loud scream leaving her mouth. She had stared at him, eyes wide, and he had only looked back at her, unable to move or speak.

It had taken her some time to make him say something, and when he had finally found his voice, all Stanley could tell her was that a friend, one of his childhood friends, had called and that he was sick... He had some issues, and was sick.

He hadn’t left room for her to ask further questions after. That night, when they were under soft blankets and Stan was feeling like an eight-year-old with a monster lurking beneath his bed, he knew Patricia was awake. He knew she could feel how uneasy he was, moving on the mattress. She didn’t ask anything, cuddling him and resting her chin on his shoulder. Within half an hour or so, she fell asleep and Stanley remained in the same position until the morning lights started to peer through his curtains and birds began to sing.

He had barely eaten at breakfast, knowing it was today. Mike specifically told him it was today, there was no time left for debate, for considerations. He needed to go. But he hadn’t.

Stanley had asked Patricia to drive him to work, telling her that today she could have the car for herself, heading to work after him. It was unusual. During their eight years of marriage, Stan was always the one to drive, dropping her by her work and proceeding to his, picking her up at the end of the day before heading home. He couldn’t drive today, his mind was a little clouded with his friend’s sickness, he told her.

Cancer, he had explained, when she’d frowned, worriedly, and asked him what was all about.

He hadn’t been able to focus on a single number during the whole morning. He hadn’t even used a calculator. All he had been thinking about was Derry, his childhood, and his friends. The sides of his face had ached a little and he’d known exactly why.

It had been during lunch, when he’d been sat with a couple of coworkers at a small restaurant near his work, that Stan had felt it all down on him. He wasn’t going to come back, keeping to live his life as it should be.

Leaving the others behind.

When he’d stood up, he’d almost knocked the table over and he’d been already at the exit door when his brain had realized his pals were asking if he was okay. He’d entered the first taxi he found, almost throwing his body in front of a motorcycle. To the airport, fast.

When he’d stared at the tickets on his hand, Stan had felt like his knees were about to give up. An annoyed middle-aged woman had patted his shoulder, urging him to get off the line as the attendant kept muttering “next”, glancing embarrassingly at Stanley and the growing line of people in search for their own flight tickets.

He’d mumbled a barely audible apology, walking aimlessly through the airport hall. His first stop had been the men’s bathroom on the second floor, where he threw up in the toilet his lasagna with asparagus.

He hadn’t remembered to warn Patricia. When he’d been about to take his flight, sat alone at the boarding room, clutching the arm seat, she’d called him. Patricia was normally a calm and collected woman, but he’d felt the change in her tone as she’d asked where he was, her voice raising some octaves when he muttered “airport”.

“Are you okay, Stanley?”

“Yes.”

“What about your friend? Is he okay?”

“He’ll be...”

“Do you have a suitcase? Do you have clothes? Money?”

“Yes”

He hadn’t packed anything, she didn’t need to know that.

“When are you coming back?”

Standing up, he’d told her the flight was about to take off, reassuring that as soon as he landed on Maine he would call her and update her on his friend’s situation. She’d barely mumbled her farewell when he hung up. One step at a time, he’d moved forward, handling his ticket with shaking hands, walking alongside the other passengers to his own seat.

Stanley had never enjoyed flights, but when the plane had landed all he’d be able to do was hold back his tears, he’d been one of the last ones to leave the plane. The wind in Maine felt claustrophobic.

Taking a taxi outside the airport in Bangor, he’d muttered “Derry” and sank on the passenger's seat.

It’d been past 8 PM when the car had stopped in front of a bright illuminated Chinese restaurant. Stanley had handled the driver his credit card, realizing how little cash he had brought with him. He didn’t have clothes either.

Now, standing at the place’s hallway, he wondered if the others would be there.

Was he the only one showing up? Was Mike right about it all? Were they still in there? He was late.

A gentle and smiling woman with dark hair pulled in a bun approached him, and Stanley tried to steady his voice, asking about Michael Hanlon. She nodded and asked him to follow her.

They were there. After 27 years.

“So what?,” he heard a rough and deep voice as he approached a private room “Is Stanley coming or what?”.

Stopping on his tracks, eyes wide, he swallowed hard. Who was there? Who was talking about him on almost the exact moment in which he stepped there? The waitress was by his side, eyeing him curiously.

“Stanley...”

“Stanley... Uris... Urine...”, a third voice reached his ears “Stanley Urine. No, he won’t show up. The guy is a pussy”.

Gulping and embarrassed with the looks the woman was giving him, he forced himself a few steps, standing in front of a table with nearly empty bowls of food and beer bottles. Six pair of eyes on him. And as much as time had passed, he could tell who they were.

Mike Hanlon smiled so wide and bright that Stanley felt the calmness pumping through his veins. He eyed every single one of them and fought with the tears that would came once again.

Landing his eyes on a bespectacled man with a hideous shirt, he bit the inside of his cheek, finally finding the voice he lost the day before after Mike’s call.

“Beep beep, Richie”.

\----

He sat in between Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier, right in front of Mike Hanlon and Bill Denbrough. He had some of Bill’s books back at home, and while seeing him in the flesh, Stanley thought that he had a receding hairline that wasn’t shown on the back covers of his novels. It made him smile.

“Are you hungry?” Mike looked straight into his eyes “I think we can order more food if you want to... we thought you... You weren’t going to sh-...”

“I’m fine, Mike. Thanks.”

“This is for sure a fucked up day,” Richie turned to him, a huge grin on his face “A day in which Staniel Uris is the one who’s late.”

Stan rolled his eyes, and heard Beverly giggling. As scared as he was, he found a sort of peace on being there with them.

“Where are you living?” a man sat next to Eddie asked him, and by deduction, Stan thought it was Ben. He was the owner of the voice that had made Stan stop in his tracks and he was the one who had changed the most.

“Atlanta.”

“Not that far away to justify your lack of punctuality, Stanley”, Richie grinned, mockingly “I live in LA, literally across the country. And I was here on time”

“Leave him,” Bill spoke for the first time, eyeing Richie playfully.

“Yes, at least he’s dressed decently,” Eddie gestured towards Richie “You look like you’ve been wearing the same clothes for over a week”.

“Hey,” Richie glared at him, pouting “It’s called style, Eds. Stanley here looks like he’s already a grandpa. I thought you were supposed to call us twenty-seven years later, Mike, not __fifty,__” and he pointed his words looking at Stan, a shit eating-grin in full display.

“Coming back from the future takes time, asshole.”

Richie’s eyes went wide and the other five started to laugh so loud that Stan startled himself, taking notice on how easy his voice left his mouth to bicker back on Richie. A warm feeling crept into his belly and the vague memory of childhood fears became foggy.

“Beep Beep, __Staniel__”.

Stanley would rather hear than speak. It was a habit he had since childhood. After 27 years away from those people who meant the world to him as a kid, this behaviour came back in full force. As the others were chatting, giggling and telling things about their lives, Stanley kept looking at their mannerisms. The way Eddie still had no control over his hands, waving them frantically while speaking, how Beverly still laughed until her eyes were prickling with tears. He noticed that Ben had the same soft hazel eyes while looking at her and that Mike still moved his nose in a funny way while listening to something amusing. Bill’s chin was resting on his palm, like he always did as a child, listening to important things. And Richie was still unaware of the importance of personal spaces, poking Beverly and Stanley evertime some witty joke left his mouth.

The intensity of how he missed them hit Stan full force. It was nearly three decades of repressed feelings covered up by a freezing kind of fear. It stunned him that even when the laughter died and Mike started to speak about the recent events that took place in Derry, Stanley wasn’t as nearly scared as he thought he would be.

Mike had a notebook in which he reported all the events that could possibly be related to It. He explained to Stanley, as he arrived late, that he was a librarian assistant, living in the clock tower of the library, going through every and single book about Derry to discover anything about the uncommon events surrounding its foundation. And, obviously, the pattern in which It acts.

When Eddie finished taking his look at the notebook, he handled it to Stanley. The hardcover seemed cold in his hands and Stan felt six pairs of eyes on him. Gulping, he reached for his cardigan pocket, taking his reading glasses. Before he could place the object on his nose, Richie grabbed it, whistling.

“Are you kidding me?”, his eyes moved from the object to Stan’s face “Are you blind now?”.

“Clearly not, as I can still see your ugly face,” Stan bickered back, annoyed “Give it back”.

“How many times you insulted me because of my poor eyesight, and now it’s you who can’t read without glasses?”.

“I can, it just hurts a little. It’s reading glasses, it’s not that big of a deal”.

“Of course it is!” Richie insisted, still holding Stan glasses, his dirty fingers on the lenses. Stan flinched.

“I use reading glasses too, Rich,” Bill intervened, with a smile “And I can still see your ugly face too,” he grinned as Richie glared at him “Now give Stan’s glasses to him”.

Richie grumbled about forgetting his lenses back in L.A. and handled Stan’s (dirty) glasses to him. Beverly was quick to give him a napkin, and Stan thanked her before cleaning the lenses.

Placing his glasses on his face, he turned to the book, right before their table started to move in a way too familiar, horrible way.


	2. Stanley Uris finds his token

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was proofreaded by marie (tumblr: sparklingspice | ao3: Evanaissante).  
I already fixed the first one with her corrections. Sorry for all the mistakes.  
This story is already finished and it has four chapters instead of three, as it felt more natural to me to split things like this. I'm still a little uncertain if I really like this one or not, but I'll let you all decide.  
As you can see, it's now part of a series with two stories, but this I'll explain at the end.  
Enjoy it!

They begged Mike to stay, and he did.

Gathered in Bill’s room (it had to be Bill’s room), they all sat together, still dazed by what they saw at the restaurant. Occasionally, they would hear steps on the hallway from the other hotel guests, and all of them would look at the door, almost expecting to see something else. While Mike lectured them about his years alone in Derry, Stanley scrolled down Patricia’s messages, feeling empty of energy to answer back to her. It was when Eddie left to the bathroom, looking very upset and trying his best to not scream at his phone (“__it’s goddamn Myra, hold on__”) earning a stupid pussy joke by Richie, that the atmosphere became a little lighter.

“It’s weird to imagine Eddie going through __sexual intercourse__”.

“Why on earth are you thinking about it, Rich?” Bev rolled her eyes and tried to smile, but Stan could see how tired she was.

“His wife looks like his mom,” he pointed out, and Ben chuckled “You saw her picture and how little he is, it’s weird”.

“You thinking about Eddie’s sex life is stranger,” she pointed out, leaning against the bed frame “But I need to say it would be weird to imagine you being married instead”.

“Are you not?”, Stan turned to him, voice low and head dizzy. The headache was nearly there.

“Of course I’m not,” Richie grimaced, laughing a little “Not in the mood to chain myself into someone for the whole eternity. I’m a free bird,” he winked to Bev, fixing his glasses “But are you?”.

“What?”.

“Married, Staniel”.

“Yes”.

“I knew it. The perfect American boy, with his perfect american wife living in their cozy house with white fences eating their kosher food”.

“Patricia hates houses, we live in an apartment,” he pointed, detached.

“How’s Patricia?” Bill asked him, seconds before Richie opened his mouth. Beverly was looking at him, intently.

“Hm, she’s alright”.

“I hope she’s smaller than Eddie’s girl”.

“Beep Beep, Richie”.

“For how long have you guys been married?”, Beverly asked him with a tender smile and Stan looked right into her eyes. Some bits of his childhood memories came back to him as he remembered how Bev’s wrists were occasionally black and purple, like right now, and as much as they all knew what was happening, she always had a gentle attitude towards them, laid back and ready to listen to their shit or just talk to them. Like what she was doing right now with him, like she knew how fucking __scared __he was.

“Eight years,” his fingers ran absentmindedly on his pants “We met at uni, we shared a class”.

“Which one?”

“Statistics,” he glanced at Ben and he was smiling “Everyone else was terrible with numbers, so I decided to do my stuff with her…”.

“__All your stuff__, right, Staniel?” Richie winked at him.

“Shut up, Richie,” he elbowed Richie’s arm, rolling his eyes. Bill and Ben laughed at them.

“I was pointing out facts”.

“Like the fact that you don’t have a partner and have to jerk off alone?”, Stanley mumbled, annoyed, and it felt so familiar “Be careful with your joints, old man”.

“Who said i’m jerking off al-”

“Beep __fucking __beep, Richie,” Beverly threw a pillow at him and Stan caught himself almost smiling “Do you guys have any kids…?”

“Hm,” he frowned, slightly uncomfortable. His marriage to Patricia rarely ended up in any fights, but the closest they got to arguing and hurting each other’s feelings were during the moments in which she mentioned having kids. Not that Stanley was exactly opposing the possibility of being a father, but he was calmer with no kids around. Not just because they would make a mess of their house and routine, he wasn’t that petty… The fact was that he felt __safe __having no kids. For years he quite didn’t understand the root of that foreign feeling, but being back in Derry was making things more clear “No… No yet,” he swallowed “We tried a couple of years ago, but… you know… And we didn’t do anything recently to try again”.

“Like no sex? Celibate?”.

Stanley glared at Richie, who raised his hands and smiled.

“What? How many kids do __you__ have spread across the country?”.

“For who do you take me for, Staniel? An irresponsible womanizer?”

“I don’t have any kids either,” Bill interrupted their bickering. Stan noticed the wrinkles around his eyes while Bill was staring at some random spot on the floor “I can’t have them”.

“Me neither”.

Stanley looked from Bill to Beverly, frowning.

“Does Eddie…”.

“No”.

“Hm,” he glanced at the shining wooden floor, at Ben’s brown boots near his leather shoes. It was all quiet, except for Eddie’s mumbles in the bathroom. He sounded nervous, even angry, “It’s __him__, right?”.

“We don’t know,” Mike had his eyes on him “But it makes sense”.

“I’m relieved, if you guys want the truth,” Richie was playing with his own fingers, avoiding their gazes. His brow was furrowed and he looked mildly angry “If it’s him. I’m glad to not have my own children if he’s around. I think we’re already fucked enough to lose one of our kids to this __bitch…__”.

“Right….”.

Stanley searched for Bill’s eyes and thought he was glad too. Neither of them had any siblings and only Bill knew what it was like losing Georgie. The thought of Bill having to face a similar thing, but with his own kid was enough to set Stan’s nerves on fire. He saw the way Ben was looking at Bill and there it was too. They would fight for Bill, they would fight Pennywise once again for Bill. The six of them would give their very lives __for Bill__. It was in Ben’s eyes. In Richie’s too. In his own, in every one of them.

The bathroom door opened and Eddie was red, his lips pursued in a thin line. He glanced at them, not saying a word. Stan noticed how he looked at Bill, who was staring at his own hands, lost in thought, unaware of how his childhood friends were looking at him. Eddie’s eyes even scanned Stanley briefly, like he was sensing his eyes on him, and then looked at Bill again.

They were back, they were most definitely back.

__It __would start all over again.

\------

The next morning, he left the room before the others. They had all slept there, sharing Bill’s bed and the wooden cold floor. They hadn’t minded it. Stanley couldn’t remember when he’d drifted to sleep. It had felt like one of those moments as a kid when you sleep away from your bed and wake up on your mattress like it was magic.

When he’d opened his eyes, the sky still a little dark outside, he’d wondered why he wasn’t on his bedroom near Patricia.

They were all sleeping and Richie was snoring. He sat on the floor, taking a look at Eddie’s curled up figure next to him. Ben and Richie were sound asleep near the bathroom door, while Bill was slumped over an armchair, neck resting in a weird position. Beverly and Mike were sharing the bed. He squinted his eyes, the only source of lightning being the orange glow from a lamppost at the street. He tried to see if they were all breathing.

Stan hesitated before standing up, trying to dodge from Eddie’s body. Closing the buttons of his cardigan, he stepped outside the room. The sensation of fear over an imminent undesired surprise left him feeling nauseated. Still, he walked through the corridor, noticing that some of the hotel guests were already awake. At the end of the corridor, a huge window allowed him to see a few cars already going through Kansas street, and the back of the public library.

He sat on the floor, near the window. There was a sparrow in the three almost in front of him. Stan smiled weakly at him. He wondered if Patricia was already awake and if he should call her, as he didn’t trust his voice enough. What would he say? That Mike had cancer? Or maybe a silly flu?

Hugging his knees, Stanley thought of how he had felt after Mike’s call. About what he had thought to do.

He shivered.

\------

His nose was dripping snot and his sleeves were dirty.

Stanley felt stupid, scared and __so dirty__. His slacks were scrapped right above his knees and all about him screamed disorder. He was walking around the town in which he was born, covered in dirt, crying like a child. A messy child wiping his nose with his sleeves. Stanley Uris being __disgusting__. He felt an urge to run away, back to Atlanta. Patricia had the habit of folding his handkerchiefs.

When he stepped inside the small motel, Beverly and Ben were sat on the staircase, mumbling inaudible things to each other. When they noticed his presence they stood straight and Ben frowned at him when he saw Stan’s face. He immediately held back his tears, glancing away.

“Stanley?”

Stan just moved his head to the sides. __Please, don’t__.

“Darling, what happened?”, Beverly tried to approach him, but he stepped back, shaking hands hidden inside his pockets.

“Stan,” Ben touched his shoulder and Stan flinched “What happened?” he asked with the familiar and gentle tone Ben always had. Stan could sense how uneasy Beverly was and that alone was enough to set up his own anxiety. But Ben was patient, gesturing almost imperceptible to Beverly to just wait. Ben was soothing “Have you seen something?” his voice was careful and calm “If you had, don’t worry now. You’re here with us, right?” Ben glanced at Beverly again “I saw something too, Bev as well… I know you’re scared, we were, we __are__ scared too… But he couldn’t reach us, he couldn’t reach you… he __can’t__ reach you”.

“Ben…”.

“I know it seems real, Stan…”.

“It is, Ben. It is real…”.

“It may be. But here, right now, is real too. And you’re here with us. And if he comes for you in here, he’ll come for us too. You’re not alone, Stanley”.

“Dear, have you found your token?” Beverly tried to hide her anxiety, Stan could sense it. For a second he was mad at her, the shower cap feeling heavy on his pocket. But Ben’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently and Stan felt shame.

“Yes, I did…”.

“Good…” she smiled and he tried to do the same, but his facial muscles were tense “We’re waiting for Bill and Rich-”.

Richie wasn’t walking, he was marching, nearly running through the small hall. His facial expression was contorted into one of utter pain. He walked past the three of them, his heavy boots making loud noises as he climbed the wooden staircase.

“Richie?” Stanley mumbled, but he knew Richie couldn’t hear him. Instead, he heard when Ben called him, voice much more steady and firm.

“I’m leaving”.

Stanley looked from Richie’s back to Beverly muttering a shocked __‘what__?’. Ben’s warm touch on his shoulder ceased as he stepped toward the stairs, looking at Beverly and Stan with a reassuringly look.

“I’ll talk to him”.

They didn’t have time to say anything and Ben was already climbing the stairs, two steps at a time. Both of them kept looking at the direction in which Ben disappeared, and Stan felt Beverly moving towards him, shyly. Raising her hand, she touched his curls and moved some strands of hair away from his eyes. Stan couldn’t help but notice the purple bruise on her wrist. If she noticed him looking she didn’t shy away. Stan felt his cheeks getting warm.

“What’s yours?,” she asked in barely a whisper and he frowned “The token”.

He bit the inside of his cheek. For some unknown reason, it sounded like she was asking him for a piece of very intimate information, one that would leave him highly uncomfortable. He fumbled with the thoughts that he didn’t know who that woman was, he barely got to meet her. Her piercing blue eyes were familiar, the shining fiery hair as well… She had facial traits that reminded him of__ someone__, but she wasn’t the same person. He wasn’t acquainted with this woman dressed in good tailored clothes with expensive earrings.

His Beverly Marsh had a chain with her house’s key around her neck. And she dressed like one of them. He laughed to himself and she frowned. He felt like crying again. That thing kept them apart for nearly three decades. Not only physically apart, but mentally as well. He gritted his teeth before touching the shower cap inside his pockets, taking it off and handing to her.

Beverly touched it with such care that Stan almost laughed, almost telling her that it wouldn’t disintegrate just because of her light touch. Her fingers were so lanky and bony. When she smiled at him the tears blurred his vision.

“Stan the man…” she mumbled, eyes equally watery “Thanks for taking care of us…”.

He hugged her like he never did as a kid. She didn’t seem to mind his dirty clothes.

Eddie Kaspbrak almost sprinted into the place and while looking at him Stan thought that he himself was pretty clean compared to Eddie. With a harsh hand move, Eddie signalled that he didn’t want to speak, that he would __murder__ them if they tried to stop him on his tracks. He caught Ben during half the way through the second floor and Ben exchanged a glance with Stan and Beverly, sharing their thoughts that try to talk with an angry and dirty Eddie Kaspbrak wasn’t the smartest idea.

“Richie?” Beverly mumbled as Ben approached them “What happened to him?”.

“He’s just scared… I convinced him to stay”.

“Good…,” she turned to Stan, a motherly look in her eyes “Why don’t you go upstairs and change your clothes, dear? Maybe take a shower? You’ll feel better…”.

Stan felt himself blushing from his ears to his toes. He didn’t have a suitcase and he was probably stinking. He felt too embarrassed to tell that to them, mostly to ask Ben if he had spare clothes. Ben was taller and his pants wouldn’t fit well, but he needed to change. He thought about Richie, who was also taller but was __Richie __and nodded, heading to the second floor.

He held tight on the handrail, hyper-aware of any movement or sound. From a few doors to his left side it was possible to hear Eddie screaming (apparently to himself) and Stan briefly considered checking on him. He walked past Eddie’s door, turning right in a corridor and reaching Richie’s. He knocked it lightly, but Richie didn’t answer. Stan knocked more two times, now a little harder. Frowning, he touched the door handle, ready to apologize for doing something so impolite. When he looked into the room there was no Richie.

The idea of being inside a room alone wasn’t pleasing and Stan considered going back to Bev and Ben, telling them that he had no clothes, blushing as Ben would probably offer one of his own. A ruffling of the curtains left his blood cold. He was about to run away when Richie’s tall and clumsy figure stepped into his eyesight.

“Rich?”.

“__What the fuck__?”, Richie almost knocked out his own glasses, jumping in surprise “What the fuck are you doing in my room, Stanl- wait, what’s __wrong__?” he took on his shaggy appearance and Stan avoided his gaze “Are you okay?”.

“How could I?” he sneered, fingers brushing the door handle “We’re in Derry”.

“Yeah. That’s why we should go”.

“What do you mean?”.

“The obvious,” Richie rolled his eyes “I’m leaving,” he pointed out the small balcony behind thick curtains “Bag is down there. Tried to make a rope with the bedsheets, but I guess I’m too heavy. At least my things are already out, so I can run past those two morons down there without them bothering me”, he explained, agitated “C’mon, go grab yours. I’ll call Eddie. Can you hear him from __here__? Maybe he’s light enough to actually use the rope. You can either go in my car or his”, he took a long glance at Stan and smiled mockingly “Maybe mine. Eddie would never allow you inside of his car when you’re looking this gross”.

Stan kept staring at him, not moving an inch. His brains were slow and he was frowning at Richie.

“What? Do you need a formal invitation, Staniel?”.

“What do you mean?”.

“Is this the only thing you can say now?,” Richie ran his hands through his greasy locks “We don’t have much time. Do you really think we’re able to fool Bill? We need to get the hell out of here before he arrives. We can say we need to get some air, Ben and Bev would never guess we’re actually leaving. Go grab your suitcase, I’ll talk to Eddie”.

“Why?”.

“Why what, Stanley?” Richie was clearly upset “Do you want to talk to Eddie instead? I’ll gladly pick your things while you face the tiny monster, it’s up to you to choose”.

“I don’t have any”.

“Any what?”.

“Stuff”.

“Excuse me?”.

“A suitcase,” he looked at Richie and he felt so stupid… Like a child talking to a demanding and judgemental parent “Clothes. I don’t have clothes. Or a towel…”.

Richie’s brows were knitted together while he stared down at Stanley. He kept silent for a moment, opening his mouth a few times before closing it. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

“Were you robbed?”.

“No”.

“So you just came here all your way from Atlanta without a spare pair of socks? With nothing?”.

“Yes… These are my working clothes,” Stan gestured to himself “Or were. The pants are pretty ruined”.

Richie uneasiness seemed to grow and his eyes were wide.

“Why did you do that? What the fuck, Stanley?”.

“I didn’t want to come…” his eyes were on Richie’s and he felt so tired “I, uh, I went to work. And then I ran away and took a plane,” he shrugged “And I’m here”.

Richie waited for him to say something else, but as he didn’t, he took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed deeply, thinking. He finally looked back at Stan, scratching his stubble.

“Shit, man,” his voice was barely a whisper “__Shit__, Stanley. You could’ve told me that before, now my things are down there and you need a shirt and pants. You’re too short to wear my pants, but still…” the flow of his words was fast and Stan kept rooted in his place “You didn’t bring a suitcase… You. All of all people… This is such a __Richie__ thing to do, yet you did it. This is so fucked up!”.

“Yeah, guess it is”.

“Maybe… Maybe Eds has something that fits you, I mean, you’re not that short… You can wear one of his pants. Are your knees cut?”.

“No,” Stan glanced at the torn fabric on his pants, from the middle of his thigh to his knees “It’s fine…. Well, I didn’t take a look…”.

“Eddie probably has a first aid kit too”.

“Yeah, probably”.

“C’mon, let’s go talk to him, I’ll explain everything and how you’re a sloppy bitch. We don’t have much time”.

“We can’t leave,” and he moved, blocking Richie’s way with his own body, despite being a few inches shorter “We can’t leave them, Richie”.

“Look at you,” and he placed his large hands on Stan’s shoulders, looking straight into his eyes. Stan thought that Richie looked really old “You’re shaking, Stanley,” and he __was__ “You’re scared shit. I’m scared shit. And I don’t want to go look for that fucking clown again”.

“Me neither,” he tried to steady his voice, not missing the way Richie’s hands lightly squeezed his shoulders “But we have too. That thing killed Georgie, remember?”.

“I know pretty damn well what he did, Stanley. But we can’t bring Georgie back”.

“But we can st-...”.

“Stop him from hurting more children?” Richie cut him half sentence and his voice had a mocking tone that made Stan shiver with a bit of anger “Who the fuck are you impersonating now? Bill?”.

“We made an oath”.

“An oath you were ready to break, right?” Richie stepped back, taking his hands away from Stanley “You didn’t want to come”.

“I didn’t”.

“And you came in the last minute”.

“I’m here nonetheless”.

Richie sneered, crossing his arms on his chest. He kept looking at Stanley for an uncomfortable amount of time, tilting his head.

“What kind of character are you trying to portray to me?”.

“What?” Stan frowned, hating the tone on Richie’s voice.

“You’re not a brave person, Stanley,” he mumbled and Stan flinched “You were the first one to run away when we got to Neibolt that time when Eddie and Ben got hurt, remember? You could’ve gone to the Olympics with those cycling skills. You didn’t even check if Eddie was okay, if Ben was okay,” Richie’s voice was harsh and Stan avoided his gaze “You were the only one who had to be convinced to enter that fucking place a second time…”.

“I was also the only one of us he almost killed…,” he replied back before Richie even finished his sentence, hating how his throat felt dry, voice barely a mumble.

“Yeah, I know that. You had better luck than Georgie,” and with that Stan’s eyes snapped back to Richie, wide and utterly shocked. Richie’s own eyes were dark “I’m a grown man, Stanley. You as well. Why do we have to risk our lives to be part of Bill’s revenge?”.

Stan was speechless. When he was a kid he himself thought the same as Richie said right now. He was scared and sad at Bill, it was Bill’s fault...But then the memory of Georgie… He couldn’t help but think that while he was bird watching or playing around… Georgie was dead. At night, while he was sleeping under his comfy bed sheets Geogie’s flesh was rotting under Derry.

And there was Judith… And the marks he still had on his face. Stanley Uris wasn’t a brave man at all. But Richie __was__. The thought on itself was infuriating. He was the weak link on the chain, not Richie. He couldn’t be part of the chain without him there.

“You want to leave…,” Stan mumbled, looking into Richie’s eyes, feeling the tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. He saw how Richie’s face expression changed, from disgust to concern. When Richie tried to step near him, Stan stepped back “Funny, uh? Who’s the __pussy __now, Richie?”.

The look of pain and shame that crossed Richie’s face was enough to make Stan clench his fists.

“Hey,” Richie licked his lips, a little pale “Listen to me”.

“Don’t you fucking dare”.

“I know what you heard,” he tried again to get closer and this time Stan didn’t move “And I’m sorry for that”.

“If you don’t shut up I’ll punch you,” Stan gritted his teeth, his vision getting blurry. He never touched anyone in a violent way, but he was more than ready to beat the fuck out of Richie. He was shaking again, but due to anger.

“Stan…”.

“I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking nose, you asshole!” and the tears were dripping from his chin.

“Why…”.

“Here,” he harshly grabbed Richie’s hand, placing it at the left side of his face “Can you feel this shit?” Stanley was mildly scared with how his voice sounded so strained, but he couldn’t stop “Can you? I couldn’t for the past twenty-seven years, and now I’m here almost yelling to you and my face __hurts__, Richard!”

“Stanley, listen…”.

“No, __you __listen,” he breathed heavily, scanning Richie’s face, his calloused fingers still touching Stan’s scars “Don’t let this city ruin who you are. Don’t act like Mrs Kaspbrak or Bev’s dad. Do you remember what this town did to the adults when we were younger?” Richie was silent, listening to him intently “Whatever he showed you… He’ll do it again,” he watched as Richie’s eyes left his own “Like he’ll do it again with me. So, please, Richie, please… I don’t want to go through all of this all alone”.

Richie stepped back, turning away from Stan. He could see Richie’s tense shoulders under the black jacket he was wearing. He watched as Richie brought both of his hands to his hair, almost pulling at it. Stan felt like shit.

“Do you want to know what he showed me?” Richie barely mumbled, turning to face Stan with pain in his face “Do you?”.

Beverly’s high pitched scream left both of them paralyzed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess the tone of this story changed from a silly romantic thing to a work dedicated to Stanley with a hint of Stozier. I hope you're not mad or considering leaving this right now. I sincerely love the result of this, of my 28 pages and up to 13k words... Stanley Uris is a complex character and I wanted to do something in which we all could daydream about something canon didn't give us... This is why this story is now part of a series. The second one (I'm already writing it, it's 1/3 done) will be told through Richie's perspective and then I'll be able to do my own plot (not that recreating the movie scenes in this one wasn't fun, because it was) and add a proper romance. So, yeah, I hope to count with you all.  
Also, I'm sorry for the lacking of the token scene. It was really hard for me to do, so I decided to let it open to your imagination. If anyone write Stan finding the shower cap (or another token), send me the link on my tumblr blog (slaveofimagination). I would love to read it.  
Well I hope you liked and if possible, leave me a review. I'm always happy to know what do you all think about my work.  
<3


	3. Stanley Uris hates spiders

When the rusty hinges couldn’t hold back Mike’s kicks anymore, Stanley felt his head getting ten times heavier, making it hard to keep standing. Beverly yelled and Mike held his waist so tight that only then Stan realized that his knees were in the process of giving out.

Inside the wrecked kitchen, there was a monster clutched to Richie’s face, with its long and nasty legs wrapped around his head. Bill was desperately holding the creature, trying to pull it off of Richie. And said creature had a mop of curly dark blonde hair that looked way too familiar from where Stanley was standing.

“The k-k-knife,” Bill roared, his stutter cutting through Richie’s screams, “Grab the knife!”

Stanley had his eyes focused on the scene unfolding in front of him, incapable of looking somewhere else. He barely noticed when Ben left his side, running towards Bill with something long in his hands - the knife - stabbing the creature multiple times until it let go of Richie, who coughed, his face covered in drool.

For a split second, Bill kept looking at the creature struggling on his hands, before throwing it away. It hit the wall with a nauseating noise, crawling away from them with a wide toothy smile on its face, _Stan’s_ face.

Beverly ran to Richie, crouching by his side and wiping his face with her coat. Ben was standing beside them, still with the knife in hand and for a moment Stan flinched on Mike’s hold, the image of Ben stabbing his head - _It’s_ head - burnt in his memory. He heard the distant sound of Bill’s screams and - maybe - Eddie’s shaking voice.

“Stanley!”

His hand clutched to his chest, right above his heart. It was hard to breath and he was crying. He was on the floor, still held by Mike, who has squeezing his arms and calling his name. Ben’s concerned brown eyes suddenly so close, scanning his face.

“What-“

“Hey, don’t let _It_ trick you,” Ben assured him, reaching for his hand “It’s okay, Stan”.

“Stan?” Bill crouched next to Ben, touching Stan’s cheek, who flinched. Bill’s hand had Its drool on it “S-sorry,” Bill took his sticky palm away “Are you o-okay?”.

“No,” he breathed heavily, feeling overwhelmed with those three surrounding him. As a sob reached his head, he turned left, taking in the shaking figure of Eddie, still leaning on the wall, wiping his eyes with his dirty sleeves. A few steps from him, there was Richie, sat on the floor, hair dripping drool, his face pale and horribly twisted in fear and… anger.

Stan felt __stupid.__

Even when Ben was screaming with his belly dripping blood as the clown carved his skin, they could still hear Bill, Richie and Eddie __screaming__ at the top of their lungs. Their joint shouting sounded so fucking _terrified_ that not even the image of It himself in the mirror could top the shiver of fear that Stan felt by listening to his friends in such terror.

Yet, if not only for Bev, Eddie and Richie, the others were all worried about him, checking if _him_ was okay. Not Eddie, petrified with fear and trying his hardest not to break down in tears, not to Richie, who was attacked by a spider with pointy teeth and Stan’s head, covered in drool, with cuts on the side of his face. Bill - poor Bill - who fought with all his strength to save Richie, who must’ve been so scared. And even Ben, who had his flesh mauled, and was panicked with the fear of being beheaded… No one of them was receiving not even half of the attention Stan was getting only because he stepped into a room just to see his rotten child face with spider legs attacking Richie… Crumbling because of __fear__.

Before he could speak, something - someone - moved so harshly next to him that he suppressed a scream of surprise. Richie crouched in front of him, knocking Ben to his side. His eyes were wide and bright behind his dirty glasses. He grabbed Stan’s collar with both hands, their faces apart only by inches. When he spoke, Stan could feel droplets of spit on his neck.

“You did _nothing,_” Richie groaned “You did nothing to me, do you understand?” he shook Stan a little “Don’t let his bastard clown fool you, Stanley. Not even for a split second I believed it was you, okay?”.

“You were screaming…” Stan mumbled, barely audible.

“Yeah, because it had scary __long sharp teeth__, it could’ve been fucking Marilyn Monroe and I would’ve screamed like a frightened bitch just the same,” he reeled back on his heels, sitting awkwardly on the floor, his hands dropping from Stan’s collar to his sleeves. Ben hugged Richie’s shoulder with one arm and Stan noticed Richie was shaking “He had been waiting for us for nearly three decades, he had plenty of time to practice his tricks, and as much as it may sound as a stupid High School Musical reference, we’re all in this _together,_ okay?”, Mike chuckled and Stan nodded “It includes you, Spaghetti boy. Or man, even if you’re still short, c’mere”.

Eddie sniffed, nodding. Bev quickly moved to his side, taking his arm and bringing them to the others crouched and sat on the floor near Stan. Eddie approached him and squeezed his shoulder, eyes wet.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered in a raspy voice “We’re gonna kill this bitch for using you like that”.

“Yeah, we’ll put those stupid shower caps and not a single rotten jewish spider will mess with us”.

Stan chuckled, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked at Richie and smiled, nodding.

\-------

They had grown up quite a lot in comparison to their younger counterparts. And because of that the sewers seem to be smaller, with its mud walls looking like the place is about to shrink and crash them. Stan had his left hand held by Ben’s and when they got to the flooded part of the pipes, he tried not to think about all the things that could’ve been touching his legs under the icy cold water.

The smell of human waste and _rotten flesh _is so strong he feels nauseated. How could it be possible that as a boy he was able to face all of it, but as an adult he is incapable of walking without Ben’s hand clutched on his? Cold droplets of sweat ran down his spine and previous bad thoughts start to swirl inside of his terrified mind. If he only had stick to his first idea after he got a call from Mike…

“It looks different, right?” Mike’s muttered voice echoed around them and Stanley squinted his eyes, the few flashlights they got were projecting weird shadows on the walls “It’s quiet..”

“Oh, shut up, Mike, I’m about to shit my pants, you don’t really have to add tension to it.”

“Well, you’re already in the sewers, Eds, it’s the most appropriate place to take a leak…”

“Shut up, Rich.”

Ben chuckled behind Stanley and the effect it had on him was far from amusement. In the cold tiny space of the sewers, with their bodies moving inside dirty water producing nauseating noises and with the yellowish spotlights, the sound of something as innocent as a laugh was enough to set Stan’s mind on full panic mode. There was something in the back of his head that reminded him of a sensation so horrifying and hopeless that the thought of losing contact with Ben’s hand was enough to make him grit his teeth to hold back a flood of tears. The sides of his face were__ b_urning._

“Is it here?”

Ben suddenly stopped and Stan’s shoulder brushed on his. Looking in front of them, he saw a bigger space, like some sort of hall. His heart skipped a bit with a vague memory, but there weren’t any children __floating__. In the centre of the room there was a heap of rotting pieces of wood, like a lonely island. He heard Mike and Bill muttering to each other a few steps ahead, but he couldn’t understand what they were talking about. The only thing he knew was that the others were heading there, and he followed suit.

As they were getting near it, Stan let go of Ben’s hand, to move faster, to get away from the water _faster._ The feeling of being thrown in water from the waist down, not knowing what was under the water, having a constant sensation that at any given moment something would grab him… He was surrounded by his friends. As much as the warm of Ben’s hand on his was comforting - and that he was missing it _desperately_ \- they were all together, all near to each other, he could endure a few seconds walking without Ben near him to focus on getting away from the water.

“Take care of your face…” he found himself mumbling to Eddie as they got near the improvised island. It could be his imagination, but Eddie frowned, a little scared “Hm, don’t touch it. Your hands are soaked in grey water and, the wound…”

“Sure,” Eddie nodded, climbing the woods, reaching his hand out for Stan “C’mon, Stan”.

Stan grabbed it and Eddie was shaking.

He scraped his knees in the process and the whole structure seemed so fragile. It could have been because of the cold, his trembling limbs, or the pile of wooden planks that was, in fact, _wobbling._ As he moved to give space to Richie, exchanging a brief glance with him, his blood ran cold.

_ Time to sink. _

Beverly’s scream echoed and Stan could feel the fear in his bones.

Eddie almost lost balance near him and Stan grabbed his elbow as the others jumped back in the water, the pile of woods shaking warningly. He helped Eddie to sit, grabbing his own lantern, swaying it in all directions. Eddie focused his on the water and Stan couldn’t hear any of the others anymore.

“Guys?”, Eddie’s shaking voice made him hiss, “Guys?” Stan swallowed hard as the fear starts to drip from Eddie’s words “I don’t want to be alone here…”.

“You’re not…” he mumbled, holding Eddie in a half hug, so __terrified __“I’m here, I’m here, Eddie…”.

Eddie whined and his babbling became incoherent. His hand holding the flashlight trembled and Stan squeezed him, praying internally, praying to all deities he could remember - believing or not - to just help the others, to help Beverly. His breath was cold and he felt like suffocating with the thick strong smell of rot. He thought about a turtle and his stomach lurched.

It felt like the walls were getting closer and the water was too __quiet__. 

The side of his face felt __raw__, and his mind kept going back to long twisted limbs holding him to the cold wet floor, and lights. Dancing spheres of light that called his name, so bright that he couldn’t look away, even if it hurt to keep staring. And he heard screams, pained childish screams and it was_agonizing._ It was like his flesh was about to get torn apart and his bones would leave him behind. The feeling of utter and complete loneliness, hopelessness, almost overtook him completely, but there was a shaking hand holding his wrist and the tip of a cold nose touching his throat and _Eddie Kaspbrak _was there with him.

He bite on his lower lip as Beverly’s cough reached his ears and he could see all of them again. Stanley wanted to scream for them to __hurry__, but it was just too much and his voice was faltering him. Eddie hugged him as Bill and Ben helped Beverly to climb the place where Eddie and Stan were huddled together. As Richie stood next to them, Stanley flinched from the stern look in his eyes and begged silently for Richie to not feel disgusted by him.

He moved his hands towards Stan and helped him to stand, proceeding to do the same thing with Eddie right after. He avoided Stanley's eyes and his heart sank in his chest.

“It’s here.”

When Mike -_Mikey -_ disappeared into the hole on the floor, Stanley wanted to scream. 

\------

When the shower cap started to burn, Stanley thought about spiders and Ben stabbing his head.

He squeezed Mike and Eddie’s hand and yelled - __b_egged _\- alongside the others for Mike’s apparently naive plea that the light would turn into __dark__. When the wind started to furiously bounce between them, Stan thought about the throat of a monster, opening up, muscles moving, wet sounds of saliva and air being inhaled, the stretch of flesh and the vibrating growl coming from the pit inside the monster’s maw.

There was so much light, it was almost blinding and it called __him__.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shouting at the top of his lungs and he ached for it to work. When he saw the red balloon growing despite Mike’s effort, he thought of the little sparrow his parents gave him when he was eleven and how sad he got when he found the poor bird dead inside his cage a couple of mornings after.

As the balloon squeezed him through__ It__’s nest, Stan knew it was their time and he wondered if he still had the time to take himself off the board without giving It the pleasure of the checkmate.

It looked like Mike was shrinking right in front of his eyes as It fed on his fear.

Were they still under Derry?

\---------

Richie was up in the air. The light was strong enough to illuminate how Richie’s limbs looked motionless, blood floating from his face. Mike cried next to him and Stan fought against the thought that he would have to see Richie being the __first __one to go. He glanced around, but there were no signs of Beverly, Ben, Bill or Eddie.

There was just the four of them. Mike embodying all the guilt Stanley didn’t want him to feel, Richie floating with dead eyes, __him__, paralyzed… And It, ready to consume his nearly three decades of long wait to __destroy__ the Losers.

_ Beep Beep, Motherfucker. _

Stanley stumbled and Mike was on the top of him, squeezing his ribs. The scream vibrating from __It’__s throat was nauseating.

He struggled to push Mike’s heavy body away from his, trying his hardest to stand despite coughing violently due to the lack of air. His eyes were watering and he glanced forward, taking in the view of Richie awake, splayed on the floor a couple of meters in front of him, with Eddie shielding his body.

His voice was faster than the talon.

_ “ROBIN!” _

Stan gasped, his throat dry, like full of sand.

__It__ turned to him, the metal bar spiked into his disfigured face, his paralyzed claw hanging dangerously in the air, too close to Eddie. Stanley never felt this angry before.

_ “GREY EGRETS! LOONS! SCARLET TANAGERS!” _

Mike’s pained “Stan?” sounds like coming from so far away, from some place __below__ him. Suddenly, he feels like the size of It, with his watery eyes at the same level of those yellow rotten orbes. Both his fists are clenched and his nails are digging into his palms. It’s so _hard to breath._

_ _“_CRACKLES! HAMMERHEAD WOODPECKERS! RED-HEADED WOODPECKERS!” _

“STANLEY!”

It was Richie. But he was so far away from him.

_ _“_CHICKADEES! WRENS! EDDIE, GO!” _

Eddie’s pained scream cut the air like a sharp razor and Stanley fell to the ground, chest heaving.

His vision was blurry and something was throbbing inside his skull, like it was about to crush his bones into little pieces. He felt the taste of cooper down his throat, hearing a wet and sickly sound when trying to breathe. He was suffocating, almost choking on his own blood.

Calloused fingers grabbed his face and he heard the distinguishable sound of rocks crashing into a body. Mike sobbed in pain, shielding Stan’s body with his own.

“YOU STUPID GODDAMN _CLOWN!”._

Eddie's voice was strained, high-pitched, leaving his mouth in such a speed that Stan could swear his tone as it was pre-pubescent, childish even, exactly like when Eddie was a scrawny little boy throwing rocks at Bowers to defend Beverly.

Another person landed next to him, raising dust, and Stan hissed as a feet stepped onto his left hand.

“H-hurry Muh-muh-mike!”

They lifted him like a ragdoll and Stan tried to mumble, tried to apologize for having no strength left in his body to stand and just walk. He felt drained and boneless. His head bounced to the sides and when cold, wet tiny hands - Beverly’s - cradled the sides of his face, smearing a sticky liquid on him, Stanley didn’t have the energy to complain, not even to understand what was happening around him.

“DID YOU HEAR ME?,” he heard Eddie again, the only thing his brain could distinguish with clarity “YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A FUCKING CLOWN!”.

“Smash his face, Eds, smash his face…” he mutters to himself, realizing his head got too heavy, his neck falling on Bev’s shoulder as she hugged him and cried shouting his name. All he can feel was the sensation of the pointy rocks in Eddie’s hand and how angry and sad Eddie felt.

It’s like he could see through _Eddie’s eyes._

And it was through Eddie’s vision that he saw Richie, glasses broken, a split lip and face so pale he looked like a corpse. But there was fire in his eyes as he grabbed the rocks near his feet, hurting his palms in the process, shouting at It alongside Eddie, getting bigger than It just like Eddie. Or maybe it was just the spider clown who was shrinking.

It was through Eddie’s eyes that he saw the fear crossing the clowns face, it was through Eddie’s ears that he could hear how fast and desperate a tiny heart beat inside the creature. He heard his name, and it was Eddie who was shouting it, but not through his mouth, _inside _Stan’s head.

He saw him from where Eddie was standing with Richie; he saw himself lying on the floor, slumped on Beverly’s lap, with Bill crouched beside her, Mike and Ben standing, stunned, looking at the shape-shifting creature. Eddie (__he__) felt anger and he saw his mouth moving, tongue heavy.

“Kill him…” he mumbled, and he sees him mumbling.

“KILL HIM!” Eddie all but shouted at the same time.

When his consciousness slipped out of Eddie’s eyes, he grabbed Ben’s ankles, a flow of sudden energy making him tremble. They helped him up as Eddie kept shouting at It.

_It_ looked like a misshapen and wrinkled scared child. And they’re all _so grown up…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far my fav chapter.  
Thanks Marie for the proofreading - what would I do without you?  
If you have the time, leave me a review <3


	4. Stanley Uris leaves Richard Tozier speechless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter.  
This story means a lot to me. It was supposed to be a silly thing, but turns out it's one of my favorite stories. I absolutely love Stanley, everyone knows that I LOVE STANLEY (my discord queers agree). I wish Stephen King wasn't a fucking coward.  
I would like to thank everyone of you who left reviews or kudos, thanks for your response. Let's make this ship sail.  
Also, thank you, Marie, for helping me so much with things that transcend grammar...
> 
> P.S.: AO3, stop fucking with my italics.

Stan stumbled on his own feet, feeling Ben’s hand grabbing his elbow, steadying him. He was sure that he was_ hurting_ Eddie by the way his nails were digging into his arm. Eddie was hurt, Eddie was bleeding through the cut on his face made by Bowers. The bandage they improvised was soaked and not only was Eddie hurt, but with dirt and _grey water _on his wounded face. Stan was trying not to get paranoid over it.

The sun was up in the sky and he was sticky and tired. His whole body was so worn out due to sleep deprivation and all of what they had gone through during the past hours... he felt an urge to cry. When he almost tripped and fell for the third time, someone grabbed the hand he was holding Eddie with, freeing Eddie and entwining their fingers. He barely noticed Eddie’s breath of relief and the way he massaged his forearm, instead glancing at Richie as he squeezed his hand.

“Don’t freak now. It’s over,” Rich mumbled, swallowing hard “Finally _over_”.

Stan nodded, holding tight on Richie’s hand.

It was over. He felt a shiver running down his spine at the memory of _squeezing_ It’s tiny heart in his palms.

_Look at you. All so grown up._

He couldn’t miss the feeling of having the other six with him, with the shallow beating heart on their hands, and__ I_t,_ lying there, so small and so _scared.._. That same thing had his teeth around his face when Stan was a kid, and in the shape of the woman on his dad’s portrait, It tormented Stanley throughout his whole adult life. It made him miss nights of sleep on end, waking up covered in sweat and tears. To his utter embarrassment, also on sheets soaked in urine. It made him flinch when alone because of simple things such as a breeze or an unknown source of noise. But mostly, it made Stan feel alone, in such kind of loneliness that he couldn’t connect to anyone, barely doing so with his statistics partner, with who he later on ended up marrying.

Now it was gone. It was finally over, like Richie said.

Derry was still asleep, savouring the last minutes before it was time to wake up and go to work, to school, to the supermarket, to the pharmacy... Nothing was under Derry anymore. Nothing lurking on the sewers, looking through downtake pipes to take children as prey... He thought of Georgie and how he used to smile at him when he came by the Denbrough household, smuggling some cookies to the smaller boy away from Bill’s sight. What would George look like if he was still alive?

Stanley only realised he was crying when Richie’s thumb started to trace circles on his shaking hand.

He glanced around and saw Ben with an arm wrapped around Beverly’s shoulder, noticing that he was crying while Beverly was mumbling something to him without making eye contact. Eddie was between Bill and Mike, and the later was looking intently at the wound on his face.

“Richie”.

“Hm?”,

“I don’t have clothes,” he mumbled, raising his head to look into Richie’s eyes “I have no clothes”.

“You’re pretty much dressed right now,” Richie smiled, and Stan could tell he was so tired, so _drained _“No suitcase”.

“No, no suitcase”.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out”.

“I’m not going to wear your ridiculous shirts”.

Richie laughed briefly, squinting his eyes while doing so. The lenses of his glasses were broken.

They kept walking aimlessly - or how he liked to think, because it felt like they knew pretty much where they were going to - and were receiving curious glances from a few people already into the streets. One day ago he was sat near a window in a little hotel downtown in this very city, bawling his eyes out with Bill’s gentle hand squeezing his shoulders. Two days ago he was trying to avoid eye contact with Patricia as he played with his oatmeal, incapable of eating his breakfast. Three days ago he was whistling, baking some eggs to his wife while looking at a bird on their backyard window.

Now he was in Derry, covered in smelling water, feeling Richie’s hand shaking in his own, trying to adjust himself to the mind blowing fact that _It_ was gone.

He wanted to cry and laugh. He never felt so_ free._

When they stopped by the Quarry, Eddie started to whine and complain.

“I’m not going, I’m not going. I’m wounded, I’m _tired_,” he sobbed, leaning on Bill as he wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulder “The water is cold... and _dirty_”.

Stan looked as Beverly stepped towards Eddie, standing right in front of him. She smiled at him and even covered in dirt and blood, Stan couldn’t help but bring back memories of how beautiful she looked like as a kid, with her fiery hair and bright smile. She kept silent in front of Eddie, with a small smile on her lips. Eddie glanced at his own shoes before looking straight into her eyes. Tears were leaving traces on his cheeks.

Richie squeezed his hand and Stan returned the gesture.

Beverly motioned her hand to Eddie’s cheek, fingers inching closer to his soaked bandage. When Eddie sobbed, she leaned in, barely standing on her toes, kissing his temple. He quickly wrapped his shaking arms around her waist, hiding his face on her shoulder, crying loudly. Ben was smiling the whole time.

Still holding hands, Stan felt Richie leaning on him, his ear resting on Stan’s head. He yawned.

“You can’t sleep this dirty,” he mumbled, allowing Richie to lie on him “The hotel owner would not let you get near the bedsheets”.

“I know,” his voice was low and tired “We’re going to clean ourselves.”

“Yeah.”

Stan adjusted his weight on his feet, glancing around. Bill caught his eyes and smiled briefly at him. Mike stretched his arms, looking at the water under them. He could swear Richie was trying not to close his eyes.

They waited patiently as Eddie cried on Beverly’s shoulder, sobbing loudly. Her eyes weren’t looking in any particular direction, gazing at something beyond it all, as she stroked Eddie’s shaking back. Ben kept smiling at them.

Eddie stepped away from her, gently rubbing his red eyes. Her eyes searched his and he half giggled, half sobbed.

“Would you do the honors?” he asked, in a raspy voice.

She smiled, brightly.

Stan watched as the others started to take their shoes off, sighing.

“No spare shoes either?”, Richie mumbled at him, freeing his feet from his sneakers.

“No spare shoes either,” he followed Richie’s actions, taking off his ruined leather shoes Patricia got him as a birthday gift “Can’t use yours if you have a third pair”.

“Why not?”

“Your feet look like surfboards”.

Richie giggled at him.

“You know what they say about big feet,” and winked. Stan just rolled his eyes.

Beverly was the first to pass the fence and warning sign, standing at the edge of the quarry for a few seconds before stepping back and then running fast forward, throwing herself from the cliff. The six boys - _men_ \- watched as she submerged into the water. When she resurfaced a few seconds later, waving at them, Eddie barely took time to warn the others, before following suit.

Mike let out a loud laugh and Bill, Ben and Richie gasped as Stan did the same as Eddie.

The water was indeed cold and dirty.

Ben was the last to jump.

The soaked layers of clothes made it hard to swim and Stanley couldn’t really remember the last time he actually had to swim. His life was pretty plain, despite his inner demons.

_It was gone,_ Richie told him before.

Ben splashed water on Eddie and Richie laughed loudly at Eddie’s indignant expression. He missed them.

Stanley chuckled when Beverly came from behind, wrapping her legs on his waist, her hands on his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“You’re braver than you think, Stan the Man”.

He just nodded, moving his legs underwater, carrying her, unable to answer without the risk of crying.

Eddie was yelling at Ben, splashing water on him. He glanced around and noticed the absence of Mike and Bill. Richie just shrugged, mumbling something about losing his glasses.

“You can’t see shit, right?”, Beverly asked him, and Richie just nodded.

“Well, __I_ can_”, and he smiled as Richie flipped his middle finger at him.

When they finally sat on the rocks in the shallower part of the water, Stan noticed some bruises on his right arm, and a few cuts on his elbow. He was startled by Eddie’s surprised ‘Oh’ as Beverly took off her soaked shirt, standing proudly with a navy blue bra. Stan blushed, looking away.

“Oh, like it is the _first time,_” she mocked, proceeding to take off her pants.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too much?” Eddie pointed at her tight pants.

“Imagine it’s a bikini,” she shrugged.

Stan looked for Ben and saw he was about to combust.

“We need dry clothes,” Mike followed suit, taking his own shirt off. Bill nodded, doing just the same.

Stan felt the calmness wearing off of him. Oh, _shit._

As a very flustered Ben placed his jeans on the rocks for the sun to dry, Stan was startled by Eddie, whose chest was now uncovered.

“C’mon, Stanley, I don’t want to embarrass myself alone”.

“I’m good”.

“Don’t be a prude,” Richie mocked, aiming at his own belt, already shirtless “Besides, you have no spare clothes since your dummy ass didn’t bring a suitcase”.

“What?” Bill arched his eyebrows “You came with no luggage?”.

“I was in a hurry...” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks blushing “And I don’t want to catch a cold”.

“It’s a sunny day, Stan,” Ben smiled at him, sat in a rock wearing only his briefs.

“Easy for you to say,” Stan grimaced, pointing at Ben, who blushed. Richie almost barked laughing.

“See? Even Stan _notices_”.

Stanley glared at him, getting uneasy. When Mike took off his own pair of ripped jeans, Stanley found himself being the only one fully dressed in soaked clothes.

“If you want to be discreet you’re failing _hard”,_ Bev grinned.

Glancing at every one of them and landing his look on Bill, looking for the kind of leadership Bill had over them as a kid, Stan sighed, standing up, cautiously.

“Okay...,” he toyed with the hem of his cardigan, slowly taking it off “But shut up, all of you,” he grimaced as he placed the piece of cloth on the rock, near Ben’s shirt “Especially you, Trashmouth”.

“Oh, a striptease!” Richie joked, whining as Eddie slapped the back of his head.

Stan sighed, closing his eyes. It was _inevitable._

Standing up wearing his long sleeved green shirt, he took a few breaths before taking it off, bracing himself.

He could hear them sucking their breaths, blushing at Eddie’s loud “what the fuck?”.

Sitting next to Ben, too embarrassed to get rid of his slacks, Stanley tried to avoid their gazes.

“Stan...” Beverly mumbled, eyes glued to his chest and arms.

“I know, shut up”.

“What the hell ‘shut up’? Shut up _you!”_ Eddie glared at him, hunching forward to take a better look at Stan’s_inked _skin.

“I definitely wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Mike mumbled with a shocked face “Not coming from you”.

“Yep, me neither,” Bill smiled playfully and Stan felt like running back to the water.

“It looks great, Stan”.

“Shut up, Ben!”, he scowled, knowing his face was bright red. Ben only chuckled.

He avoided to look at them as they kept looking at the tattoos on his chest and arms, feeling like an animal caged in a zoo.

“When did you get them?”.

“Long ago,” he answered Bill without looking at him. It was useless to tell them to stop.

“Do your parents know?” Eddie sounded wary and Stan just shook his need, _no, they don’t_ “What about your wife?”.

“Obviously, Eddie. I’m a _married man_,” he sighed, indignantly.

“But your parents don’t?” Eddie repeated and Stan just rolled his eyes “What about your pals? Have you shown them...”.

“No, I didn’t”, Stan cut him short “I’m not into walking around shirtless, Eddie”.

“What a bitch,” Eddie teased, brows furrowed. Stanley glared at him “So under all the grandpa outfit with this weird cardigan and fancy tailored pants you’re like a jewish tattooed _bad boy?_”.

Ben and Mike burst in laughter and Bev followed suit. Bill smiled, moving his head to the sides in a disapprovingly but amused gesture.

“Who would've guessed, Rich!” Eddie all but mocked, with a huge grin.

Stan turned to Richie, ready to shut him on the spot, only to blush furiously.

Richie was quiet, with his mouth hanging open and wide eyes. He was blatantly checking on Stan’s frame, his dark brown eyes trailing from one drawing to another, not missing Stan’s toned stomach.

“What?” Stan crossed his arms, trying to look chill despite his utter embarrassment “Envious much?”.

“Hm?”, Richie raised his eyes to Stan’s, still dazed “What?”.

“Looks like you’ll have to lift some weights too, pal,” Ben’s gleeful voice came from behind “If you don’t want to be left behind”.

Before Richie could react, Mike muttered something about Eddie joining Richie, to tone his skinny frame. Eddie got furious, glaring at Mike and speaking two times faster, displaying his toned biceps to which Bill only laughed.

Stan turned his attention to Beverly, as she touched the mermaid on his left arm.

“This one looks good, Stan”.

“Uh, thanks”.

“Yeah, it suits you,” Ben grinned without malice “What a transformation”.

Beverly giggled in return and Stan avoided their gazes, glancing back at a weirdly _quiet _Richard Tozier.

He wasn’t even bothering himself to look _casual,_ rather eating Stan with his eyes.

“Would you stop?”, Stan muttered lowly, taking advantage on the fact that now Ben was trying to tell Eddie he didn’t looked that bad, to Eddie’s utter annoyance.

“With what?”

“With your looks,” Stan pointed, trying to keep a angry face despite his shame.

“My looks?”, Richie’s voice sounded strained “This is not about _my looks,_ Staniel”.

“You know what I meant,” Stanley rolled his eyes “You’re making me uncomfortable”.

“Well, what do you th- _Nevermind_,” Richie shook his head, throwing his hands up his head “Let’s praise the Lord that you don’t have a suitcase with_spare clothes_”.

Stanley glared at him, not failing to notice Richie’s blush.

During the walk back to the hotel, he kept taking glances of Richie looking at him. Fully covered in his “grandpa” cardigan, Stanley didn’t know from where came that urge to just _smile_.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not disappointed with how subtle the stozier aspect was developed here. I guess I'll post the follow up by October 8th. I'm old and I have tendinitis. But I love this ship, so...  
Once again, thank you all. It was a pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr under the (stupid) username @slaveofimagination. I would love to talk about this ship :)


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